


The Saints

by Aurum262



Category: Halo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:42:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurum262/pseuds/Aurum262
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Funny thing happened today. During the battle, a Spartan showed up and pulled us out from under some serious fire. Afterwards, we planned how to press the attack. That was the funny part. I would have staked my life that he was John. They had the same mannerisms, the same turns of phrase. God, listen to me. John's been dead for years. Maybe the shrinks are right. Maybe I am cracking up. Maybe... maybe it's time to let go."<br/>-From the personal journal of UNSC Marine Lieutenant Erin Parisa, Platoon Leader for First Platoon of Kilo Company, First Battalion, Seventh Regiment from Eridanus II. <br/>Dated 22OCT2552, the day after the end of the First Battle of Mombasa.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Funny thing happened today. During the battle, a Spartan showed up and pulled us out from under some serious fire. Afterwards, we planned how to press the attack. That was the funny part. I would have staked my life that he was John. They had the same mannerisms, the same turns of phrase. God, listen to me. John's been dead for years. Maybe the shrinks are right. Maybe I am cracking up. Maybe... maybe it's time to let go."  
> -From the personal journal of UNSC Marine Lieutenant Erin Parisa, Platoon Leader for First Platoon of Kilo Company, First Battalion, Seventh Regiment from Eridanus II.   
> Dated 22OCT2552, the day after the end of the First Battle of Mombasa.

Lieutenant Erin Parisa had big plans. The seemingly endless war with the Covenant had finally been declared over and her unit had all been awarded six months of paid leave while the brass sorted out the credit and blame. Erin hoped to finally see a captains paycheck from a "Congratulations for seeing this crapsack planet through the War" courtesy promotion. However, that came after the leave and the leave came after one last psych eval to make sure she wouldn't blow up a buss full of school kids or some such shit. 

She had been through enough of these from both soldiers and civilians. That tended to happen when your first ever boyfriend who had saved your life and never shown any serious health problems suddenly started to whither away before succumbing to multiple organ failure and dying. It did her no good that this had all happened when she was seven, in the earliest of her psychologically formative years. These not informidable problems had been compounded by the glassing of her homeworld and the murder of her family at the hands of the damned Covenant. She still dreamed of her parents and older brother bidding her a tearful farewell as she had boarded the refugee shuttle at the Elysium City spaceport only just escaping before the plasma beam had vaporized the entire structure. That was what countless shrinks had told her, anyway. She wondered which type this one would be. Regardless, she knew the textbook answers to anything he might ask.

She entered the office and was slightly surprised to see a young woman sitting at the desk.

"Lieutenant, please come in. Have a seat." She said, smiling and gesturing to a chair.

Erin smiled back, going through the motions she knew would secure her the signature she so desperately needed all while thinking to herself "shit, an 'I want to be your best friend'". She hated those. At least the ones who were convinced she was a basket case were honest about how little they thought of her. The friendly ones couldn't even be honest with themselves.

Near the end of the interview, the shrink stood up and said "Erin, I'm not fooled. I've seen your file, I know you've been through more of these interviews than the rest of your unit put together. I know you're just feeding me what you think I want to hear."

Erin was surprised. This one wasn't as stupid as the others.

"Okay, let's say yes. You're right. What would you propose we do about that?"

The two women squared off for a few moments before the shrink sat back down and said "I know some other things, too. I know that long before I get to the truth, you'll have lied to me so much that I won't believe it when I hear it. I know that if you wanted to talk to me you would have. I know that I have dozens more of your comrades to sign off on before I'm done for the day and, much as I'd like to, I don't have the time to spend with you. What I will do is beg you, on my knees if I have to, to find someone, anyone to open up to. According to your file, you have no close friends, no intimate relationships, practically no human attachments outside your unit and strictly professional ones inside it. I hope the file is wrong but I don't think it is. Please, living without human attachment isn't healthy. Make some friends, let some guy in a bar pick you up, do anything to get close to the race you helped save." When she had finished, she signed the GO box on the eval form.

"Thank you for the advice, doctor. I'll take it under advisement." Erin said, taking the eval form, ink still wet, from off the desk and leaving the office.

The doctor turned to her computer and typed a quick message.

"Lieutenant Erin Parisa. Fits the bill perfectly. Just like you said, gave me all the answers I was looking for. If you hadn't instructed me to look for the signs, I would have been convinced she was a model of a well-adjusted Marine. My only concern is an almost complete detachment from human relationships severe enough for me to suspect moderate sociopathic or ASPD tendencies. Personnel jacket enclosed."

As her next appointment entered, a reply popped up.

"Perfect! Thanks, Kells."

* * * *

Erin had no sooner changed into civvies and left the base than she realized she had absolutely no plans. What she thought had been plans had all been more along the line of vague impressions. Now that she actually had to execute them, she realized they were completely impossible at her pay grade or just impossible. As the shrink had said, she had no real relationships to speak of. No more family. No close friends. No distant friends. A few casual acquaintances but none on Earth.

Only vaguely aware of what she was doing, she made her way to one of Sydney's public beaches. Deciding it was as good a place as any to spend a few hours, she ducked into a surf shop and came back out with a beach towel, a black bikini, and a backpack she had stuffed her street clothes into. She laid down on top of her towel and closed her eyes. The sun felt good beating down on skin that had seldom been out from under her Marine BDU's in years. She ran a hand over the sun tattoo on her stomach which she had gotten on an impulse to outline the distinctive sunburst scar from a near miss with a needler round. "She wears her scars proudly." one shrink had declared. She didn't. She wasn't ashamed of them. She just didn't much care. She didn't care about a lot of things when she was outside the heat of battle.

"Hey, sweetheart. Nice scars. I got a few of my own I could show you if you cared to look." Someone said from near her. She opened her eyes and sized the man up. He was tall and fit. Probably really was a marine and might have actually been in enough battles to have an impressive scar or two. She couldn't have explained rationally why she hated the man but she did.

"Fuck off, asshole." she said, closing her eyes again.

Her eyes snapped open as she heard him turn to leave. She couldn't believe he had taken the hint. They never took the hint. She had been hoping he would start something so she could vent her frustrations. Gentlemen were almost as annoying as friendly shrinks.

Her already perpetually bad mood soured even further, she gathered up her towel and set off down the beach. She grinned as she spotted a sea-skimmer rental booth. She checked the prices and then her bank account. Good God, did she really have that much back pay?

She rented one of the lightning fast vessels and revved the engine before darting away from shore in a spray of seawater. She hadn't felt this alive since that long ago day on the shore of Lake Gusev when John had promised to marry her. She slowed the craft down as she thought of the picture in her pocket in the backpack back on shore. 

"Would John want her to spend her life this way?" A small, quiet portion of her brain asked for the thousandth time.

"No." The same part of her brain answered.

"Who cares?" The rest of her brain answered.

She cut the engine and dumped one of the prefab overload viruses from her neural implants into the skimmer's onboard computer, one of the bonuses of being her units cyberwarfare technician. She hit the thrusters and the craft shot straight into the red. The exhilaration of speed was beginning to wear off when the skimmer shuddered, tossing her easily off of the rocketing craft. She skipped across the water's surface for three meters before the overloaded engine exploded.

As she sank into the ocean, darkness began to eat away at her vision.

"This is the part where John rescues me and promises never to leave me and to keep me safe." she thought as she felt water force its way into her lungs.


	2. How I Want To Be In That Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inhabitants of the planet of Danu are of predominantly Irish descent. Fed up with the centuries of sectarian violence, a pagan cult, the Tuatha Dé Danann boarded one of the first human interstellar vessels bound for an only recently charted planet. No contact was made with them until the year 2400. During that time, the people thrived, the fertile soil taking terran flora and fauna exceptionally well and the slightly higher than Earth norm gravity leading the people to evolve higher red blood cell counts as well as higher bone and muscle density making them exceptionally tall, powerful, and graceful by standard G metrics. The religion of the Danann includes a belief that, at the end of time, the gods will call upon their souls to fight in the final battle against the monstrous forces of chaos. As such, mortals are called upon to hone their martial prowess as much as possible in the mortal life. This has lead to an interesting demographic: the Danann, a group comprising less than .00001% of the UEG's population constitutes .01% of UNSC personnel and a relatively staggering 1% of UNSC SPECWARCOM personnel.  
> -Encyclopedia Galactica entry on the people of Danu, the Tuatha Dé Danann

Commander Rhona St John watched as the skimmer bucked its rider and exploded. She didn't hesitate before she pulled off her uniform jacket and dove into the water. Her muscles, forged in Danu's high gravity and tempered in combat burned and ached but still pulled her easily through the water. She reached the spot that the apparently suicidal Marine had disappeared and dove. She scanned the water as best she could while the salt stung her eyes eventually finding the dark, drifting, human shaped blob that was her target. She wrapped an arm around the marine's chest and pulled her to the surface. She gasped as she broke clear and began dragging the limp form to the shoreline. She thanked the gods in their mercy that the marine hadn't been too far out, hadn't been on the craft when it exploded, hadn't been on a stretch of beach right in front of her, or any of a thousand and one variables which, had they not fallen into place, would have lead to the end of Lieutenant Erin Parisa.

When she reached the shoreline, Rhona began CPR after ordering one of the gathered crowd to call 000, the local police emergency number. She sighed in relief as the marine spat up two lungs full of water, coughed and vomited yet more sea water over Rhona's already ruined uniform trousers.

"You Lieutenant Parisa?" Rhona asked.

The marine coughed, tried to speak, coughed again and nodded. 

Rhona delivered a short-straight punch to the side of the marine's head. Unlike a Spartan, a Danann couldn't kill a sangheli with a single blow. Even so, the blow would have been fatal had Rhona been at her full strength or had put her full strength behind the blow or had targeted the lieutenant's temple. As it was, she was knocked out cold and would wake up with one hell of a bruise.

"That's for all the shite you've put me through." Rhona spat at the unconscious marine.

She left the unconscious woman and walked back to the rental agency.

She explained to the owner what had happened.

"I am her commanding officer." She lied. "I understand she left her things in a locker here. I'll retrieve them."

The owner showed her to the locker and handed her a datapad.

"The craft she rented was in excellent condition. However, the onboard computer detected an unauthorized breach."

"I understand. I'll pay for the damages." she said, signing the datapad and shouldering the backpack. 

"You just did. Tell the kid not to come back." The man said, showing her the door.

* * * *

Rhona was sitting in the back of the ambulance when Erin woke up. She did, indeed have one hell of a bruise but a little biofoam had scoured away the worst of it.

"John?" the bleary eyed marine asked.

"Swing and a miss, lass." Rhona said.

"Please don't hit me again." Erin muttered.

"That's the least of your worries." 

The marine's eyes widened in fear as Rhona leaned in and whispered "I don't care how good you are at playing shrinks, after that stunt with the strings I can pull, I can see you in a padded cell until you die a natural death. Do you want that, Erin?"

"N-no." she said.

"In this bag is the address and key to an apartment that's paid up to the end of your leave. It's yours. If you'd prefer a padded cell, make plans for tomorrow night. I'll be in touch." Rhona said, dropping the backpack onto Erin's stomach and ducking out of the ambulance.

* * * *

Erin spent the remainder of the day seriously considering making plans, any plans, for tomorrow night. Instead, she went to the address on the note tucked into the backpack. It was an incredibly nice apartment complex in Sydney's better quarter and the Super confirmed that a woman in UNSC uniform had paid up front for six months. She wasn't sure if her "rescuer" really had the clout to make good on her threats but she certainly had money. She gathered her clothes from the UNSC base where she had planned to spend her leave and moved them into the apartment.

That night, she reached into her pocket and her pulse skyrocketed. Rather than the old, worn photograph which had occupied the pocket, she drew out a square notecard.

"In case you were thinking of making plans. See you tomorrow." it read in the same hand as the address.


	3. To Kill A SPARTAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She found me when I was so alone; when I hadn't a friend in the galaxy; and when I was wondering if my life was worth living. She found me in my hour of darkest need and she saved my life. Ten years ago, I wouldn't know what to do with myself, now she's gone. But, thanks to her, I know now. I'll morn her passing until the day I die but, thanks to her, I have a life to get on with."  
> -Commander Serin Osman, delivering the eulogy for her fiance, Rhona St John

All in all, Captain Serin Osman was rather pleased with herself. After literally half a lifetime of struggle, the War with the Covenant was over. She wasn't sure what Parangosky would have in store for her next but she was sure it wouldn't be boring. She scanned the Officer's Mess while she waited for the inevitable message summoning her to Admiral Parangosky's office. Her mouth fell open as a ghost walked into the mess hall. But there was no mistaking that giant but perfectly proportioned frame, the shoulder length hair the same almost black dark red as dried blood from a vein and the forest green eyes which burned with such passionate intensity that they seemed to cut straight to the heart of whatever they surveyed. She stood as the woman approached her.

"Rhona." Serin said, her calmness belying the emotional torment which racked her as the woman she loved and had thought dead these past six months stood large as life before her.

"Hey, kiddo." Rhona said with a grin.

Serin punched her. She knew it would have little effect on the high-G muscles so she was surprised when Rhona dropped like a stone.

"I deserved that. But, in fairness, I deserve it about half as much as you think I do."

Serin dropped to a knee and punched her again before the MP's dragged them both out of the mess and tossed them into the dust. While Rhona was still picking herself up, Serin had stormed off.

Serin waited outside Admiral Parangosky's office while a thousand thoughts stormed around inside her brain. One by one, she calmed and collected herself so that when a woman who might have been the clone of the one she had just bloodied her knuckles on left the office, she barely reacted.

"How long did you know?" Serin asked, not even wincing as the sight of the deep scars criss-crossing the woman's face and distinguishing her from her twin sister came into view.

"About two months. Before that, I suspected for about another month." Astrid St John replied.

"Two fucking months." Serin spat.

"Serin, there's a lot you don't know. After Parangosky's through with you, find Rhona and talk things out."

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"You know how Rhona is. She won't thank either of us for talking about what's between you and her."

"Fine," Serin said, having no intention of taking Astrid's advice before taking a moment to compose herself and entering Admiral Parangosky's office

* * * *

Erin had spent the last day alternately moping and raging impotently against the cruel fate which, at long last, had separated her from her precious photo. She was plotting for the umpteenth time whether it would be worth it to kill the bitch commander when the phone rang. It gave her the address of some swanky restaurant not far from her apartment.

She should have been ejected from the establishment as soon as she crossed the threshold in her ratty jeans and worn t-shirt but she was bound and determined to get the commander permanently banned from the premises. Before any of the staff objected, the woman in question approached her and showed her to a table in a darkened corner.

"Lieutenant, I screwed you hard." the commander began, immediately producing the picture and handing it to Erin. "I did that because I really wanted to see how you'd handle it. Quite frankly, you did better than I was expecting. You didn't do anything stupid and pointless like not take the apartment or refuse to show up here but you knew you wanted to at least try to fuck me as bad as I fucked you so you dressed in a way that guaranteed that everyone in this restaurant will have at least one eye on us all night. You do anything and I'll be banned from one of my favorite restaurants. I am at your mercy. It's a petty power but it is power. Without thought for social norms or personal consequences, you gained an upper hand. Well played."

"I'm waiting for a reason not to use that power." Erin replied, coldly.

"All I ask is that you give me five minutes. You do that, I'll let you do whatever the fuck you please. Order whatever you want, by the way. My treat."

Erin glared at the woman sitting across from her but ordered the most expensive steak on the menu with a bottle of equally expensive wine.

The commander smirked while Erin placed her order.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" Erin demanded of the smiling woman.

"I want you to stop wasting what you have. Let me ask you a purely hypothetical question, if you were to have to kill a SPARTAN, how would you go about it?"

"SPARTANs are stronger, faster, smarter, better trained, and better equipped than any other soldier in the galaxy. If I were to need to kill one, I'd come at them while they were naked, alone, and I'd bring an army... in tanks."

"Good. Now what if you had to face them while they were armored, prepared, and with all their little SPARTAN buddies."

"Run away, curl into a ball, cry, and hope they shoot me quickly."

The commander gave her a look suggesting that she could do much better.

"What do you want?"

"There's a reason I came to you, Lieutenant, rather than Palmer, Moreton, Pinada, or any of those other marines. And no, it's not because you commissioned instead of enlisting."

"I'll bite, why?"

"You're one fucked up little bitch. In fact, you've spent your life with some of the greatest minds in the galaxy telling you just how and to what extent you're fucked up. Let's see if that rubbed off. What can you tell me about the people in this place?"

"A bunch of rich assholes who wouldn't give me the time of day." Erin crossed her arms.

"Now you're putting people into boxes. Anyone can do that. Analyze. Look at the patterns. Extrapolate from the given data. You may be a basket case but you're not an idiot. Scarface, over there." the commander said, indicating a middle aged man with a scar across his cheek. "Tell me his story."

Erin looked at his posture, his body language, and his facial expression. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she recognized the patterns from countless hours on a shrink's couch and even more hours trawling the shipnets trying to find what would please them.

"He's a vet, just back from combat. Still twitchy. Every time there's a loud noise, his trigger finger twitches. The woman's not his wife, he's cheating with her. He feels like shit about it, though. He's not making eye contact. That's guilt, right?"

"Or the combat zone twitchies?"

"No, he has a ring, she doesn't. If he was keeping his head on the swivel, he'd still make eye contact. He's deliberately avoiding it. This is a fancy place, I'm guessing she was his long-term stress relief while on Earth and now the War's over and he can go home to his wife, he's breaking it off."

The commander looked slightly bemused.

"What?" Erin demanded.

"Not bad. Really not bad. You were still putting them into boxes, assigning motives based on stereotypes of the hound-dog soldier, his wife, and his girlfriend; though. You'll become less reliant on the stereotypes as you get better at it."

"I can tell you're bisexual." Erin said.

"How did you know?" the commander asked.

"People who think little of boxes and people in them tend not to fit into the boxes themselves. Of the possibilities, bisexuality is one of the more common ones and when you asked how I knew instead of why I say that, I got my confirmation."

Their food arrived. While they were eating, Scarface's girl stood up and said, more loudly than was discrete, "I should have known this was coming. I wish you and the bitch the best of luck." before storming out of the restaurant.

"So," the commander said "you've found out that I like to fuck girls. Shall I share what I've learned about you? You spread misery because you can't remember ever feeling anything else. You push people away because you can't handle any meaningful relationships. And your whole life, you've been enabled because you've had a rough time of it. You know John deserved to live and because he didn't, you feel you deserve to die. Same thing for your family. Well let me tell you something. Every single person in this galaxy has just as much bullshit going on in their lives as you. You're not the first person to lose everything and you won't be the last."

"So, what. All this to tell me I should be more loving and kind to my fellow man?"

"In a sense, yes. Off a cold read with no formal training, you were able to diagnose a shit marriage. Not too big a leap but more than your average person would have been capable of. If you recieve this training, you can manipulate people; find out what they want and dangle it in front of them, find out what they fear and ensure they face it. This is a great and terrible power and the only people who have it are evil, psychopathic bastards; and truly wonderful people who can empathize more deeply... love more deeply than anyone else in the galaxy. I don't know which you are and that is why I'm interested in you."

"I don't follow."

"Let's return to my original question. You need to kill a SPARTAN. How? Have you ever heard of the SHIELD protocols?"

"No."

"If anyone ever asks you that ever again, you will answer just like you just did on pain of death. Because, officially, the SHIELD protocols don't exist and there are exactly two kinds of people, the kind who know, and they all know each other; and the kind who don't need to. So if someone asks, you don't know or else ONI will knock on your door in the middle of the night and you will disappear. Am I clear?"

"Yes."

"The SHIELD protocols are the handbook for dealing with SPARTANs who are outside standard UNSC jurisdiction. They range from MOUNTED SHIELD, a legally retired SPARTAN who isn't suspected of taking hostile action against the UEG; to SHATTERED SHIELD, a rouge SPARTAN acting in direct opposition to the interests of the UEG. You can understand that the spooks in the Ministry of Truth would have a much harder job if word got out that the SPARTANs are human after all but SHIELD incidents are more common than you would believe. The first such incident was Soren-066, a SPARTAN washout who tried to defect to the insurrectionists. He was declared MIA after his attempt two years after receiving his SPARTAN augmentations. The most recent was two weeks before the Fall of Reach. SPARTAN B-312 had a skill set uniquely suited to wetwork and solo operations. A fundamental part of the SPARTAN ethos is that a SPARTAN never fights alone. That made her ill suited to standard SPARTAN operations. Her CO thought that made her his plaything and when he ordered her to act against UNSC interest, she shot him twice in the head. If she hadn't been acting in our interest and turned herself in, I'm fairly certain the UEG as we know it would not exist. I bring this up, because I am the UEG's go-to for serious SHIELD incidents so I know what it takes and you've got a certain je ne sais quoi."

"You think I could kill a SPARTAN? Why!?"

"Think about what we've discussed. Synthesize."

After a long pause, Erin said "I can figure them out... psychologically?"

"The Office of Naval Intelligence goes to a truly incredible amount of trouble to hide the fact that the SPARTANs are human. But let me tell you, they are. At times, painfully so. When you observe them as much as I have, when you truly make a study of the SPARTANs, certain patterns begin to emerge. These patterns can be exploited. Furthermore, I have yet to meet a single SPARTAN who wasn't about as screwed up as you. They each have their own, unique pathologies from God Complexes to full on Inferiority Complexes. If you know which is which, you can cut their hearts out with nothing but words."

"Sooooo... what?"

"In one month, I ship out for SPARTAN IV training. I want you to be on the ship."

"Okay, let's say I accept. What's the catch?"

"You'll draw your paycheck from ONI? Seriously, though. You'll work for me and I won't coddle you. I watched my parents be vaporized in the nuking of New Belfast when I was 6. I watched brutes carve up my sisters face for giggles. I know that if you stop wallowing, you can be a fully functional human being. I won't let you be less."

"You say that with a great deal of confidence."

"Of course I do. The alternative is that you're just weak. If that's true, you'll break and we'll both know I was wasting my time with you.

"I'm not weak."

"I've seen nothing to support that claim. Prove it."

"What do I need to do?"

The commander smiled.


	4. Cadence to Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One of the more curious members of the fauna of Danu is the leanan sídhe. These six-limbed, winged predators are common pets among the people of Danu. Like their mythological counterparts, they form strong attachments to their human companions. Their predatory nature, extensive natural arsenal of weaponry, and the near impossibility of separating a sídhe from their bondmate without suffering serious injury has lead to their acceptance as unofficial military working animals in many UNSC units which recruit from Danu. In one notable instance, a sídhe was posthumously awarded a silver star for engaging a special operations unit before the attached marines were aware of their presence. The marine unit, which was holding a strategically important location during the First Battle of Mombassa, would likely have been destroyed if not for the sídhe's intervention. Examination of the remains of the zealot leader of the Covenant spec-ops unit after the battle indicated that the fatal injury came from the sídhe's claws tearing out the sangheili's throat."  
> -Encyclopedia Galactica entry on the flora and fauna of the planet Danu

The spartan recruits in the bay of the the D96-TCE Albatross heavy lift dropship came to attention as expected when Rhona came aboard. To their credit, not one of them so much as shot a second glance at the repillianoid avian perched on her shoulder until she waved them back to their seats.

"As you were, as you were. We're all just recruits now." She said, smiling at the marines.

She crossed to where Erin was already sitting.

"May I?" she asked, indicating the seat across from where Erin was sitting.

Erin glared at her superior before nodding at the seat. As Rhona sat, the leanan sídhe perched on her shoulder crawled down the front of her uniform and settled in her lap.

"I'm glad you decided to come." Rhona said.

Erin grunted.

"Lieutenant, I said some... pretty awful things to you. I did some awful things to you. I know it'll take a lot for you to trust me again but I want to start now. I just have one question. Truth or dare?"

Erin looked up. "Seriously? That's how you want to build my trust? With a game sorority girls play after a night drinking?"

"Again with the stereotypes. No nudity or anything which might compromise the chain of command, the questioned reserves the right to change to or from truth or dare. I don't expect us to be best friends but it'll be a start. Or, if you prefer, we can pass the" Rhona consulted the itinerary in her neural implants "16 hour trip glaring at each other."

"Fine but I go first."

"Truth."

"Have you ever lost someone you loved?"

"Right to the heart, I see. Yes. My mother died when I was five, Huntington's. My father died a year later, like I told you, in the nuking of New Belfast. Like I told you, Brutes captured my sister and made me watch as they cut up her face. Later, when the Covenant took me prisoner... again, my sister and my fiancee lost me. I haven't reconnected with my fiancee, yet."

"Dare."

Rhona pulled a piece of beef jerky out of a cargo pocket and the sídhe on her lap immediately perked up.

"This is Balor." Rhona said, indicating the animal before holding out the meat. "Feed this to him without losing a finger. While you're working on it, truth."

Erin took the meat and Balor began eying her.

"When your parents died... how did you deal with it?"

"And the point emerges. Sure, I'll give you advice. My mother's death was rough. I wouldn't have dealt with it if not for my father. He told me that I had to be strong for Astrid, my sister. After he died, I kept on being strong for her. Since then, I've never let myself be without purpose. If I may, your problem hasn't been that you've been through more or worse than other people. You've just made the mistake of letting the ennui get to you. Remember I've read your file. 'Lieutenant Parisa displays incredible focus, determination, and calm under fire when on the battlefield. In combat, she is a model marine. However, as soon as she and her unit are out of danger, she regresses into her listless, depressed, and occasionally suicidal self.' That's one of the reasons I brought you here. It'll get at least a couple months of purpose out of you and who knows, maybe you'll find something more."

While she was talking, Balor had crawled down her leg and slunk across the floor space separating the two women. Suddenly, he lunged, snatching the jerky out of Erin's hand and dashing back to Rhona's lap, prize clutched in one of his front hands. The cargo bay door closed and the half full dropship shook as it rose into the air.

"Truth." Erin said.

"Do you want to be here?" Rhona asked.

"I want to prove I'm not weak."

"And you think this will prove it?"

"Yes. If the training doesn't, I'm pretty sure you will. That's two questions."

"Ah, damn. Truth."

"Do you think I'm weak?"

"Honestly, Erin, I don't know. You're stronger than you've shown yourself and the galaxy. I just don't know if it's enough. Truth."

"Every shrink and battle buddy I've ever talked like this to has tripped over themselves to assure me that I am strong. I appreciate your candor. Why did you come to me... I know you think I can wage psychological warfare or whatever but why were you looking at me in the first place?"

Rhona stayed quiet for a long time before whispering "Erin, the time for you to learn that is coming but it's not now. Trust me, it's better this way.... Dare."

* * * *

Their game lasted for about an hour. Afterwards, Erin slept as Rhona circulated around the cargo bay, swapping war stories and becoming acquainted with the other SPARTAN recruits in the compartment. When they finally landed, the humidity and heat of the outside hit the recruits like a kick in the teeth, despite the fully fallen night. They were quickly hustled out of the ship and issued MA5 assault rifles and rucksacks full of their required gear for the duration of their training. After they checked their gear to ensure nothing was missing, a drill sergeant came up to the group and proceeded to PT them, ending with a half mile run holding the rifles above their heads before they were shown to the barracks. Rhona fell into her bunk without doing more than removing her boots. Her last look before falling asleep was Balor giving her a look which said "you brought this on yourself with all that pointless running about." Reverie played early.

For the following days, Rhona and the other recruits were treated to PT and rifle maintenance before breakfast. Mornings and afternoons were taken up by intensive team-building drills and exercises while the heat of most days were spent in sweltering classrooms. They spent their weekends on some of the most challenging field training Rhona had gone through in her life.


	5. Currahee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The admiral asked me if I hate the Covenant. Undoubtedly an interesting question. I don't particularly hate the Covenant. I hate like a horse in blinders. I have too many specific people I hate to waste my time hating in general."  
> -From the personal journal of then Lieutenant Rhona St John, Office of Naval Intelligence Force Recon

"Spartan Petrovsky, in position."

"Spartan Villarreal, in position."

"Spartan Shih, in position."

"Spartan Parisa, in position."

"Spartans, hold position." Rhona replied to the check in as the convoy approached the ambush. The SPARTAN trainees had been hiding in the jungle for upwards of a week. Before that, months of brutal training had passed. The remaining 10 trainees; 6 ODST; 2 other ONI Force Recon commandos in addition to Rhona; and Erin, the sole regular marine had all compared notes and concluded that the training had been the hardest any of them had endured. Their STX training consisted of full-force stun rounds and training grenades against overwhelming forces; LANDNAV training sent them slogging through swamps and rivers and over mountains without satalite or GPS support; and D&C left them at attention, shoulder arms, or, when they were very lucky, parade rest in the blazing sun until they passed out or fell out. were finally nearing the end of their brutal indoctrination. After this last simulated mission, they would be shipped off world to receive their augmentations. Then, they would have their "final exam" which had always been spoken of as if it would make the past months of training look like a cakewalk.

"Parisa, go." Rhona ordered when the convoy entered the kill zone. This mission had the team securing a package, intact, from a Warthog in the middle of the convoy of missile pod and chain gun 'Hogs and a single Scorpian MBT.

On Rhona's order, Erin broadcast initiated a cyberattack against the engine computer of the target Warthog. The engine sputtered, coughed, and died. Immediately, the convoy ground to a halt and the soldiers fell into a perimeter. In the shuffle, no one noticed the entirely nondescript looking female private falling into the formation from the bushes. Rhona watched from the ORP as the OpFor squad leader approached "private" Shih's prone form.

"I'm Private Chang, on loan from C Company to replace Private Nixon." The Force Recon Chief Petty Officer easily lied. 

A 48 hour leave slip, a few bribes, and a handfull of emetic drugs in his morning coffee had ensured that Private Nixon had been unable to participate in the mission. A search would reveal that Private Chang had indeed been ordered to the mission's OpFor and Erin's hacking had ensured that, as long as an AI didn't double check, any queries for photos of Private Chang would turn up corresponding photos of CPO Shih and that Private Chang would be scrubbing latrines very far from the zone of operations all week long.

The squad leader nodded as he consulted his datapad, finding their misinformation. "Carry on, Private." he said.

"Brilliant work." Rhona praised the recon jock through her implanted comms unit.

"Private Chang!" The platoon leader yelled as he realized that Spartan Shih's assumed identity was the unit field mechanic.

Rhona watched through her binoculars as, between them, Spartans Shih and Parisa coaxed the most horrendous sounds from the Warthog's engine. Distracted by the ungodly racket, none of the perimeter marines noticed the ripple of active camouflage as Spartan Villarreal, the ODST explosives expert slipped between the treads of the Scorpion and laid a simulated detpack which would broadcast a signal to the equipment and vehicles of all OpFor in a 20 meter radius deactivating them and marking them as "dead" until the completion of the mission.

"I... think... I've... GOT IT!" Spartan Shih yelled as the engine roared to life. The marines dove out of the way as the Warthog accelerated as if being driven by a ghost. Shih, who had been on her back beneath the truck couched and sputtered as the wheels kicked dust into her face. Fortunately, she had been the worst hurt as the other marines dove out of the path of the runaway vehicle. The truck carreened off a bend in the road before smashing through some dense foliage and out of sight.

"All according to plan." Rhona thought.

The marines who had been directly assigned to the target Warthog split off in pursuit of the runaway vehicle while the remaining platoon closed around Shih.

"Look it's not my fault if you A Company mechanics can't do your jobs for shit. I..." She stopped, mid-justification and grinned as the training detpack hijacked the Scorpian's onboard speakers to simulate an almighty explosion and half of the marines stiffened as their training BDU's registered fatal injuries to their wearers. Like a shot, Spartan Shih bolted through the bloodless carnage of "dead" marines and, before a shot could be fired, she was deep in the jungle.

"Petrovsky?" Rhona asked.

"Got it." the lanky Russian ODST wilderness survival specialist radioed, indicating that he had secured the package from the "broken" Warthog.

"Fantastic. Assault team, lets move." Rhona said to the remaining 5 Spartans.

The three ODST shooters; Arusei, a massive Kenyan man; Moana, a Maori woman whose face was covered in traditional tā moko tattoos; and Andrew, a man of Native American descent; moved into position to greet the oncoming marines, falling into position behind trees and hillocks when they passed their retreating comrades. They were covered by Rhona and the remaining Recon jock, Jai, a scout/sniper from New Mumbai who took positions up nearby trees.

Rhona and Jai engaged on sight with the shooters laying down dense fields of fire from their automatic weapons. When the shooting stopped, the forest had been painted red with the dye of the training rounds and all but a single squad of the OpFor were listed as either "dead" or "fatally wounded". The assault team swept through the kill zone, finishing off "wounded" marines before retracing the marine's path back to the convoy. Rhona and Jai took turns picking off the gunners in the Warthogs, not letting them decide where the shots were coming from and, when the Marines finally stopped entering the deathtraps that were the Warthog's guns, the shooters swept through, ruthlessly dispatching the remaining OpFor.

* * * *

"Who are we!?" Rhona shouted as the victorious Spartans reentered the training camp.

"Currahee!" the team replied.

"And what does that mean!?"

"We stand alone!"

"Must I remind you of the fate of Captain Sobel?" a voice from one side of the ten trainees asked.

"Sobel got screwed because he was a son-of-a-bitch, Commander Musa." Rhona said, coming to attention and saluting the wheelchair-bound officer. "We stand alone in that, measured against the great heroes of military history, Easy Company, Task Force Ranger, even your own Spartan II's, we stand among them. As such, we stand apart from the rank-and-file as their symbols and icons; alone at the top."

"A bold claim, Commander St John." the Spartan washout said.

"If I wasn't bold, I wouldn't be here and I'm confident that my team is made up of the ten best soldiers in the galaxy."

"Commander, please come with me. The rest of you, dismissed." Commander Musa said.

"An excellent little speech. Did you rehearse?" Musa asked as they walked towards an administrative building.

"A little, I admit. I'm familiar with the team-oriented training of the Spartan II's. I though I'd shake things up a little, make us stand out."

"Well, it certainly worked. I had a speech all prepared for you about the importance of teamwork and unit cohesion but after that little training maneuver, I've had to scrap it. You deployed each of your Spartans perfectly. Arranging for Privates Chang and and Nixon to suffer their mischief's was a particular stroke of genius."

"Thank you, I try." Rhona replied with a grin. They entered an office.

"Please, have a seat, Commander. If you don't mind, I was hoping we could have a little chat. I was reading your personnel jacket, gripping stuff. I wonder, though, a six year strech between the death of your parents and the beginning of your involvement with the Silver Hills Gang seems to be missing."

"Aye."

"Care to fill in the blank?"

"No."

"No?"

"It's the English word for a denial, a rejection, or a negative response to a yes/no question."

"Really, St John? Sarcasm? How very original."

"Nothing to say, really. I took care of my sister and did what I had to to stay alive. It's not a time I remember fondly. Suffice it to say that the lives of the Spartan II's were a breeze in comparison."

"Were you a Spartan II?"

"No, but I've fucked one who could talk a Hunter's ears off, and they don't even have ears. I know what you went through and I know what I went through. I had it worse."

"Serin-019, I assume?"

"Osman!" Rhona spat. "Is irony completely lost on you? Do you really have no idea how Orwellian stripping the Spartans of their very identities was? I've read your file as well. You want to restore the dignity of humanity to the SPARTAN program. How about you start by respecting your own comrades by honoring them with names."

"Commander, please. We are here to discuss you, this is neither the time or place to discuss the place of my brother Spartan II's in the wider galaxy. You say you provided for your sister. How?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters."

"I did whatever I had to."

"Such as?"

"Fuck off."

"Commander... Rhona."

"I did what I had to." Rhona replied, enunciating each word individually.

"Commander, I've spoken to your sister. I already know. But I need to hear it from you."

"Why?"

"There's been another SHATTERED SHIELD incident. Of all the candidates, you have the least substantive psychological profile; even less so than Parisa's. If you're so inhuman that demanding you recount such formative and traumatic events doesn't let me get what I need to know about you, there's no place for you among the Spartans."

"You demand I re-traumatize myself so you can tell if I'm human enough to become a Spartan? Great gods, there's so much irony in that one sentence I could write a poem. Fine, I'll play your stupid game. I got money however I could. I begged, I stole, but sometimes that wasn't enough. When it wasn't... there's a certain kind of gentleman who will pay a high price for girls of that tender age. If you want more detail, I'm going to have to ask you to go fuck yourself. I don't much care to recall my time as a child prostitute and there's a very special kind of prison rape for the kind of people who would care for the gory details about such things."

The wheelchair-bound Spartan regarded her for a long time before saying "Thank you, Commander. I know that wasn't easy but you of all people should know we can ill afford Spartans who fall outside a very certain psychological profile, comfortable enough with their identities enough to accept the trauma of making and living with impossible decisions but emphatic enough to sacrifice everything for others."

"Is there anything else, sir?" Rhona asked.

"Yes, two things actually. First, your condition."

"My condition?"

"Your sister told me why you pursued this slot in the SPARTAN program. You inherited the family curse. You're positive for Huntington's and all the factors that make conventional treatments and cures impossible. If you don't get radical gene therapy, such as the kind Spartans undergo, you won't live to see 50."

"Aye." Rhona said, her heart suddenly beating in her throat.

"It can be done. You and your team will recieve your augmentations in a week's time at an ONI base called Trevelyan. Yours will include a little something extra which should straighten your neurons right out."

"The second thing?"

"I would like a consult. The recent SHATTERED SHIELD incident, I'm going to Bravo-6 shortly to testify about it. I'd like an expert opinion. Here's the file."

Rhona took the file and replaced it on the desk without looking at it.

"I don't need the file. It never should have gone as far as it did. Since their abductions, Spartans have lacked the counseling and psychological support any human who kills other living beings for a living needs to function normally. I've read all the files on all the SHIELD incidents and not one of them couldn't have been prevented by provision of basic psychological support to the Spartans involved."

"Thank you, Commander. Although I wish we were both wrong, it's always nice to have my opinions confirmed. Commander Rhona St John, it is my honor and my privilege to hereby comission you into the UNSC as the team leader of Fireteam Winter. I would do the same for the rest of your team but I feel it would mean more coming from you. Commander, I'll see you on the far side of your augmentation."

Rhona bent to allow the crippled Spartan to remove her BDU's ONI pin and replace it with the round pin marked with a capital lambda which was the official insignia of the SPARTAN branch of the UNSC. He then handed her nine more pins and returned her salute before Rhona showed herself out of the office.


End file.
